


Coelestis

by WhisperingOrchard



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Sex, Astral Plane Sex, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Season 2, all characters portrayed are 18+, operates under the assumption that Shiro is stuck in the astral plane via the black lion after S2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-26 07:20:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9873188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhisperingOrchard/pseuds/WhisperingOrchard
Summary: Their love was birthed among the cosmos, thriving in a plane of existence neither fully understood. Of only two things Keith was certain—that their time together was limited, and that he would make the most of said time with his ever fiber.Or;Keith and Shiro's "first time" together in the astral plane.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So... [This post by wuffen](http://wuffen.tumblr.com/search/astral) was passed around a discord group chat that I'm part of, and suddenly the "astral sex fic" was born. That's really all there is to it. :'D
> 
> Huge shoutout to [flusteredkeith](http://flusteredkeith.tumblr.com/) on tumblr for proofreading it for me!

The black lion was an enigma that he had yet to fully piece together.

As the newly-instated leader of Voltron, Keith was required a certain degree of additional “bonding time” with the head lion—while he was in-tune enough with the massive feline to pilot her when necessary, there were still some minutiae to explore regarding their connection on a subconscious level. She would listen when asked, but otherwise ignored his mental prodding altogether.

Silence, it seemed, served as the final barrier between them both.

And so, on the rare occasion when they were granted a moment’s rest, Keith would excuse himself to the holding bay and sit for hours inside of Black’s cockpit. At times, he found her muteness exasperating, but in the wake of a particularly draining battle, her quiet calm folded over him like a blanket. He would be lying if he said he didn’t miss Red’s familiar mind-touch, and the thought of his old lion—his _intended_ lion—often left him with a pang of guilt settled in the pit of his gut. But even Keith could admit that piloting Black, for all of her apparent misgivings, left him with a tranquil sort of high.

Yet, to say that Keith spent the majority of his rest time merely _bonding_ with Shiro’s lion was not an entirely accurate statement.

Black was waiting for him as per usual that evening, motionless and silent and towering above him with that peculiar dignity of hers. As the head of Voltron, she carried an air about her that Keith had never noticed prior to becoming her paladin—she was noble, imposing, but not _proud_.  Not in the same sense that Red had been. His gaze dragged up the expanse of her front leg for a moment, tracing the sleek contour of metal with his eyes; he extended a hand and gently patted her paw a few times.

“I want to see him.”

She permitted him entrance, but otherwise gave no further motion to respond.

With a wistful sigh, Keith lowered himself into the pilot’s seat. The cushion caved gently against his backside, hugging the curvature of his spine and accommodating his build as best as it could manage. It was far from the first time he had sat in this seat, yet even now it felt near-ready to swallow him whole. A throne designed for a future Emperor, and then for a Champion, wasn’t meant for a skinny half-breed; this poetic irony was only further underscored in the way that Keith’s lithe body only half-fit the soft cushion.

Drawing his hands along the sides of the seat, he leaned back further against the headrest. The first time he had done this, shortly after defeating Zarkon, Shiro’s smell had lingered still against the fabric—now, it was near undetectable, and what little notes remained were likely Keith’s imagination filling in the gaps.

A sensation prickled at his scalp, the nearest thing to a response from Black since Shiro’s disappearance, and with a hard swallow, he let his eyelids slip shut.

~*~*~*~*~

After so much time spent traversing the cosmos— _how much time had passed since they left Earth, anyway?—_ every pocket of space had begun to look, more or less, the same. In their first departure from Earth’s atmosphere, the depths of outer space had been a sight to behold—those old telescopes and starmaps back home could never hold a candle to its wonder. But now, after an indefinite amount of time surrounded by it? To quote one of his old professors, “ya’ve seen one star system, ya’ve seen ‘em all”.

But even so, something about the astral plane was distinctly _different_ from what he had grown used to.

On the surface, it was hardly different from any other system they had defended in their time piloting Voltron—the same glittering stars, the same space-matter drifting along the gravitational pull of a distant planet. And yet, as Keith pried his eyelids open to blink away the flashing lights of the cockpit, he was certain he had never seen so enticing a scene in reality. Glowing clouds of purple matter splattered the blackness of space above him, and a pool of stars crafted ever-changing mosaics beneath his feet.  There was an ethereal quality to it all, something inexplicably _grand_ that never failed to leave him in awe. The hairs on his arms rose at the splendor of it all.

It was frightfully beautiful. It always was.                                            

Stealing a quick glance down at this hands, Keith let loose a held breath and shook his head. No matter how many times he had done this, he would never adjust to the red haze that enveloped his body on the astral plane. He knew that, at the very least, it served as a reassurance that he had successfully transferred his mind into the alternate world. Even so, nothing more about this odd other-space would ever make sense to him—Pidge had the occasional theory about it all, and Coran had tried to explain it to him to the best of his understanding, but it was well over Keith’s head in terms of its hinge (or lack thereof) on reality.

With one last gaze across the expanse, Keith folded his arms over his chest and called out into the void.

“Shiro?”

Silence returned, ever dependable, as his voice echoed out into oblivion. For all of these precious moments that they _could_ be spending together, Keith thought, Shiro sure took his sweet time emerging from the void. But, as the astral plane had been wont to do, a collection of dust and light answered his unspoken misgivings and left in its wake a familiar purple-tinted body.

He didn’t look any different than before his disappearance, aside from the slightly wearier look in his eyes (which, if Keith was being entirely honest, he didn’t believe anyone else would even notice). This was far from the first time he had sought Shiro out in the cockpit of the black lion, but every visit brought on a fresh swelling of relief in his chest. Slav had once told him that the odds of Shiro _not_ appearing one day were slim; yet, despite the probabilities behind it all, Keith could not suppress the smile that grew across his face when his old friend appeared among the starfields.

“Shiro,” Keith repeated, emotion prickling at the corners of his eyes. His eager heart nearly bounded from the confines of his chest as Shiro’s twinkling gaze locked with his own. Hastened steps set the pace as they moved toward one another; in a single swift motion, Keith’s arms hooked under Shiro’s and clasped at his back, pulling the other’s glowing warmth against his body. This was the nearest feeling to “home” he had felt beyond the bounds of Earth’s atmosphere. “It’s… good to see you again.” 

Beneath his chin, Keith felt a low, contented sigh roll along the ridge of Shiro’s shoulder. In an almost mirrored fashion, Shiro returned the embrace and lifted his arms to tug Keith tighter against his chest. There was a certain sense of urgency in the steady motions of those hands, one which sent a tingle down the stretch of Keith’s spine.  In Shiro’s present state of existence, this was the closest thing they could get to physical contact with one another, and their every moment together reflected exactly that. It was never _enough_. Every point of contact between their bodies made Keith’s heart ache, and he found himself almost hyper-aware of the solid, warm body in his arms. He couldn’t— _wouldn’t_ —ignore the smiling lips that pressed endearingly against his scalp.

“It’s good to see you, too.” Chuckling, Shiro stepped back from the embrace and held the other at arm’s length for a moment, as if committing his every last cell to memory. His hands slid up from Keith’s back to cup either side of his face, letting the pad of his flesh-thumb drag along a flushed cheek. “It’s… actually pretty good to see _anyone_. Not that Black doesn’t make good company, but—”

“—it’s not the same?” Keith interjected.

Shiro could only nod at that, cracking a half-smile and moving his lips to rest between Keith’s brows. “You could say that.”

“Mm.” Despite himself, Keith couldn’t help but grin harder, and he did his best to contain it in a sweet peck to Shiro’s mouth. That in itself was enough to send a spark along his nerves—after so much time spent without his now-lover’s touch, Keith had precious seconds to make up for. “Pidge _is_ making progress. It won’t be long before you’re… _Back.._.”

Speaking further on the matter would have soured the moment, so he let his voice drift into a pregnant silence. Unspoken word went understood between them both, evidenced only by the slight upturn of Shiro’s eyebrows. They couldn’t afford to be anything _but_ optimistic about this whole situation, lest they jeopardize Keith’s focus as a leader and Shiro’s concept of _himself_. This was mutually agreed upon long ago. As it was, Keith’s time in the astral plane was always limited, and so they chose to focus in on the simpler truths, rather than dangling by a plethora of “what-if”s and “if only”s—truths as plain as “Keith loved Shiro”, and “Shiro loved Keith”. Anything of lesser importance was ultimately lost to the void.

Gently, he shook off the hands on his cheeks and backed away from Shiro’s touch. With eyes fixated keenly on the other, Keith slumped to the ground and sat criss-cross atop the illusion of a stardust-laden floor; Shiro followed in suit beside him, bumping knee with knee as he leaned forward to steal another swift kiss. The sensation set Keith’s veins aflame— _stars_ , had he missed the other paladin’s touch.

“—And Slav? Is he still… around?”

“ _Hmp_. Nothing has changed, Shiro. _At all_.”

Keith shook his head, repositioning himself to lean against Shiro’s side. A bionic arm laid lazily across his shoulders.

“He never quits talking. _Never_. He’s worse than _Lance_.”

He felt the tremor of Shiro’s low laugh against his side. What was once such a menial sound had become an ear-bliss, of sorts, for Keith—simple, but rare in recent times. Before Kerberos, Shiro had always had a good-humored nature, cracking light-hearted jokes and dropping puns whenever the opportunity arose. And yet, since their rescue of Shiro from the Garrison, the number of times Keith had heard Shiro genuinely _laugh_ could be counted on one hand.

It was nary more than a chuckle, but the throbbing tug of his heart could hardly resist its nostalgic charm.

Swallowing, Keith met Shiro’s eyes again, letting the intimacy of silence carry sweet nothings between them. There was an enticing softness there, in those deep gray irises, outlined in a glowing astral lilac. Keith had always wondered what it was about the color gray that he found so soothing—perhaps, he thought, the answer simply lied in that half-lidded stare. 

Their foreheads came together slowly, _carefully_ , as if too deliberate a touch would propel them both back to a reality of solitude—a reality of starvation for the other’s flesh and soul and _life_ where it otherwise did not exist. After all, Keith was no longer a constant in Shiro’s world, nor was Shiro in Keith’s. Their love had birthed and thrived in this mysterious plane of pseudo-existence, but they both had to wonder if it could even _survive_ outside of the safeties of the astral plane—outside of a world without immediate dangers and heart-rending cataclysms and—

Their lips met again.

In his bewilderment, Keith was uncertain which of them had initiated it first. The sensation was nothing new—this was far from the first time they had kissed—but something in its sincerity left him in a stupor for a tick. Softness, wetness, _warmth_  —he drank in the taste of Shiro’s lips like a tonic, forgetting just how _welcoming_ the foreign mouth had always felt against his own. After another inkling of time, Shiro broke contact and backed away, panting tiny breaths against his cheeks as they maintained closeness.

Beneath his skin, Keith could already feel the hot prickle of lust beginning to burn, and by the stars, if he didn’t want _more_. Be it the time spent between this visit and the last, or the yearning that he _swore_ he saw glinting in the older paladin’s eyes… Keith was far from satiated.

Lifting a careful hand, he cupped his palm to the back of Shiro’s head and pulled him in for another kiss. He couldn’t get enough. Every little brush of skin and gasp of breath set his skin aflame and his mind to consequent ashes. Lost in the desperation of it all, he dragged his fingertips through the scratchy hairs of Shiro’s scalp, humming lowly as a tongue warmly pried at the crease of his lips. 

“Shiro—” he managed, breaking contact for a moment; a string of saliva connected them, yet, until Shiro jerked his head to the side. “— _Shit_ , I miss you.”

Concern melted into amusement on Shiro’s face, and he reached up to swipe a thumb along the other’s chin, catching a little dribble of saliva. “You say that now.”

“And I’ll say it again when you come back. Don’t talk like that.”

Keith shook his head but smiled in return, feeling the contagion of Shiro’s mirth seeping into his body. He loved Shiro, he _did_ , but that negative self-talk of his always churned the pit of his stomach. It would take time to show Shiro the extent of his endearment, and longer still to help Shiro see the value in himself , but Keith was adamant against letting it go.

Another peck to the lips lulled his attention back to the present, and Keith’s smile bled into a smirk. His fingers itched for more contact, but a tiny part of him still felt the cold metal of the black lion’s controls beneath his fingers —reality’s desire to pull him back again. Nevertheless, Keith wouldn’t have any of it, and in his need, he clasped his palms tightly to Shiro’s shoulders, as if the tighter he gripped, the more _real_ it would all seem to his subconscious. The fabric beneath his hands served as a steadfast reassurance of his presence here, but if he wasn’t careful, his mind may slip again. Focus was of the utmost importance.

“I’m looking forward to it,” Shiro said, grimacing as teeth clacked once in their urgency.

“Me, too.”

A hand lowered to rest on the slight jut of Shiro’s hip.

“I’m… looking forward to _a lot of things_ when you come back. Maybe sooner?”

The implication in Keith’s words hung thickly in the air betwixt their bodies.

Visibly exhaling, Shiro shook his head. “Keith, you know we can’t…”

“Why not?” Drawing his lower lip beneath his teeth, Keith bit back an indignant sound and tightened his grip slightly. He had never been one to plead, and he had no intention of starting now, but Shiro’s continual insistence against sex was beginning to baffle him. While he fully respected Shiro’s choice on the matter, he had to wonder if there wasn’t _more_ to it all, underlying his hesitation. “What are you worried about?”

“We don’t know what would happen,” came the response, and Keith followed Shiro’s eyes down to his bionic arm. “Keith, we’re not even in a real _place_. We don’t _really_ know anything about this… about _any_ of this—”

“It’s your arm… isn’t it?”

Quietly, Keith addressed the elephant in the room, glancing between it and Shiro’s bittersweet stare with a sigh. It was no secret that the Galra prosthetic, in all of its alien mystery, was a constant uncertainty in the black paladin’s life, and while it had never flared to life and attacked any of his familiars, there was no way of knowing whether it ever _would_.  It was a weapon, at its core, serving as both an extension of his shoulder and a killer in the direst of circumstances. Who was to say it wouldn’t flare up at _any_ sign of Shiro’s pulse rising?

“Shiro…” he started, and dragged his grip from hip to palm. Snaking their fingers together, Keith lifted their hands up to rest against his chest, and beneath his ribs, the rapid thrum of his heart echoed inaudibly against the metal. “I trust you.” 

A shared look passed between them, brimmed with a mix of desire and reluctance. When it came down to it, their disparity lied in a simple point of view—Shiro saw his arm as a ticking bomb, and Keith saw it as an artificial extension of his lover’s body. Beyond that, however, the want for the others’ touch burned brightly within them both; it was simply the matter of acting on it that remained unaddressed.

Slowly, Keith leaned forward to capture the other’s lips again. If he could draw out any _inkling_ of a final answer from the other, perhaps they could move on from this awkwardness that had settled between them. He flicked his tongue out for another tentative taste, as if inquiring whether Shiro felt comfortable with continuing where they left off—his eyes remained half-lidded, open, studying his familiar’s face for any indication of discomfort. He took a small solace in the fact that Shiro didn’t immediately recoil away.

In fact, if anything, he swore that the mouth folded against his was _smiling_.

After a moment’s breath, a hand rose to the back of his head, and Shiro was pressing him nearer with a fervor he hadn’t shown before. Lips sliding open, Shiro met Keith’s tongue eagerly with his own, lapping his way into the other’s mouth and tilting his head for better access. The zeal in it was _intoxicating_ —Keith’s senses all firing off at once, taste and scent and sound and touch all overwhelmed by the astral entity cradling his head with care. It was too much, but _fuck_ , it wasn’t nearly enough.

With a wet _pop_ , Keith broke the kiss and pressed their foreheads together once more; the enamored breaths puffing out from Shiro’s parted, swollen lips raised gooseflesh along his skin. What few thoughts he could piece together in his current daze came together with a single conclusion—Shiro was just as desperate for his touch as he was for Shiro’s. Perhaps even _more so_ , really, considering Keith at least had contact with the other paladins. With Allura and Coran as well, and even Slav. Whether such contact was warranted or unwelcome, Keith had what Shiro did not—Keith had family, friends, and acquaintances with which to interact, to love and be loved.

Shiro had lost it _all_.

And this wasn’t the first time it had happened, he noted with a frown. Shiro either didn’t remember his time as Champion or neglected to speak of what he _did_ remember, but from what Keith could piece together, Zarkon’s Champion had been considered too rife with bloodlust to be kept with other prisoners. Really, Keith wasn’t sure what worried him more—Shiro’s solitude as it stood now, or the idea that he had grown _accustomed_ to such solitude.

Frowning, Keith pressed his palms against the other’s chest and gently ushered Shiro down onto his back.

“Keith?” Shiro said, voice catching in his throat as Keith moved to straddle his lap.

“I meant what I said.” The conviction in Keith’s voice was clear as day, but he shifted awkwardly in place all the same; upon climbing on top of Shiro, he was immediately privy to the slight hardness pressing against his buttocks. His gaze fell sidelong as he organized his thoughts, all too aware of how close their loins were.  “I trust you. And… And I want to show you. I want you to trust yourself as much as _I_ trust you.”

It was corny, and he _knew_ it was corny, but he was uncertain what else to say in the thrill of the moment. As he dragged his eyes back to Shiro at last, he felt his tongue tie behind his lips all over again, for the sight that met him was one worth committing to memory. He could hardly look away—he _wouldn’t_ look away.

Shiro was flushed skin set against a backdrop of nebulae and moonlight, a violet image framed by distant crystalline dots. The gleam in his eyes was bright, _intense_ , and directed in its entirety up at Keith’s face. By the stars, if Shiro wasn’t _breath-taking_ , lying beneath his weight—a cherished captive between his body and the celestial floor, entirely and willingly compliant to the body above him.

“ _Keith_ …”

There was an affection in Shiro’s voice as he spoke Keith’s name again—a gratitude, of sorts, that shot right through to the softest part of Keith’s heart. His prosthetic rose to brush Keith’s bangs from his face, lingering against the skin for longer than necessary. On his mouth, he wore a toothy, affectionate smile—touched, but a bit taken aback.

Keith’s tongue darted out to remoisten his lips. “Yeah?”

“Since when did you become so cheesy?”

Keith only shook his head and leaned down to kiss him again, satisfied with the little hum that rumbled out from Shiro’s chest. Metallic fingers carded through his hair, carefully tugging at the dark strands on the back of his scalp, and Keith’s mouth opened pliantly at the touch ; a breathless sound crawled up from his lungs at the feeling of it all. Ever opportunistic, Shiro took advantage of the moment to suck at Keith’s lower lip, gradual and tender in his ministrations. It was almost amusing, really; Keith was all fervor and impatience, and Shiro was careful and deliberate by contrast . Not opposites in whole, but different enough that the other’s nature did _maddening_ things to his lover’s blood—a near-perfect match in that regard.

As if in unison with their forms, the space beneath them shifted. What was once a composition of deep violets and twinkling white had since danced into a shade of mulberry—far fewer stars sprinkled the void than before. With his mind’s haze, Keith was near-startled by the sudden change, but recognition registered in the back of his mind in due time, and he returned to the task at hand. It was little more than a reminder of his physical presence in the black lion—a reminder that his time here _was_ limited, and for all that he may hope, they could not stay like this for an eternity.

Sinking flush against Shiro’s body, Keith tore his mouth away to catch his breath. While still muddled by the man pinned beneath him, his mind drifted again to the shifting galaxies around them—and once more, beneath his palms, a brief flash of cold returned his thoughts to the cockpit. It was too soon—had he truly been here as long as he thought? Or was the thrill of it all simply making it more difficult for his mind to focus? Whatever thoughts he had on the matter were stifled by the hand in his hair, as gentle fingers coaxed him back to the quiet beauty of the cosmos. Compliant to the tug on his hair, he craned his neck to follow the hand and surrendered his throat to the other pilot’s lips.

“We don’t—” His voice hitched as Shiro’s free hand began to roam. “—have a lot of time. It’s changing already.”

Shiro sighed softly into Keith’s skin and pressed one more open-mouthed kiss to his jaw. “We’ll pretend as long as we can.”

 _Pretend_. The connotation of such a damning word struck Keith over the head like a club. That was all this truly was—wasn’t it? Pretending they could stay like this, could stay _here_ like this, for an eternity. Pretending that there was nothing beyond the solace of the other, here in this alternate space. Pretending that their love existed on a plane of reality, rather than its current split-existence on the cusp of real life and mental projection. When Shiro was brought back— _if_ Shiro was brought back—where would that leave them both? How long would that be? Hell, how long would Keith be able to stay _now_ , in this singular moment of mental transference?

Both acknowledged that this couldn’t last—but like _hell_ was Keith about to let that hold them back.

Instead, he opted for shifting again and repositioned himself to better align their bodies. It would be dishonest to say he had an entirely _clear_ idea of what he was doing—he had read things and was not _completely_ unaware of the mechanics of sex, but the actual act itself left him a bit uncertain. Biting his lip in concentration, Keith gyrated his hips a little, and his eyes sought Shiro’s face for some sort of reaction. And—there it was—pleasure evidenced by teeth sliding over a swollen lower lip. There was something incredibly alluring in the knowledge that _he_ was the one to elicit such expressions from Shiro, like a saccharine secret that only Keith was privy to. Fighting back his own little noises, he glided his palms down the expansive chest beneath him and settled his fingers around the hem of the other’s shirt.

“… Good?”

“ _Heh_ …” Shiro breathed, and the corners of his mouth curled upward as Keith unzipped his vest. “Worth being stuck in another plane of existence with nothing but empty space and a sentient robotic lion. You good, too?” 

“Never better,” Ke ith responded, without hesitation, and discarded the vest behind them. Leaning down again, he pushed his lips eagerly to Shiro’s throat, letting his tongue curl out and flick along the pulse beneath. Even in this plane of nonexistence, the hurried beating against his mouth proved that Shiro _was_ , in fact, alive—alive in a non-reality, yes, but alive nonetheless. He trailed kisses down the curve of his bared throat, smiling at the warm humanity of the skin beneath his lips; perhaps they needn’t pretend about _everything_. 

Affectionately, Keith punctuated a small nibble with another grind of the hips. A soft noise escaped Shiro’s lungs as he began to roll his hips in time with Keith’s, and the younger paladin’s name spilled from his tongue with an accompanying expletive. He shut his eyes for a moment, appearing to lose himself to the delightful friction between them; the blush that bloomed on his face made his facial scar stand out starkly against the purple of his astral body. Shrugging off his undershirt, he tossed it haphazardly aside and leaned up on one elbow, shuddering as the cool atmosphere nipped at his bare torso.

Keith couldn’t help but stare a little.

“Hey, you too.” A look of feigned indignation crossed over Shiro’s face, but the humor in his tone betrayed his act. Flushing deeper, he tugged at the hem of Keith’s t-shirt. “Off.”

“Oh, r-right,” Keith stammered, caught slightly off-guard, and raised his arms to pull the shirt off. As he chucked the offending garment over his head, he chanced a quick glimpse at the paladin under him, and found Shiro’s eyes fixed pointedly on his right shoulder. Realization dawned; he subconsciously clapped a hand over the jagged scar that contrasted the otherwise smooth nature of his skin.

“From the Trials, right?”

His flesh-hand rose to clasp the juncture between Keith’s neck and shoulder, folding gently over the smaller hand already resting there. His hips slowed to a stop, and his focus was, instead, beguiled by the discolored skin that scraped slightly against his fingers.  “I didn’t know it was that bad…”

Licking his lips, Keith averted his gaze back down to Shiro’s chest. “It’s just a scar. You have way more than I do, anyway.”

It was far from an exaggeration—long, serrated scars marred the canvas of his flesh, some far more gruesome than others. Keith couldn’t begin to fathom the suffering his familiar had endured at the hands of their enemy. To Keith, it was astounding enough that Shiro, for all of his trauma, had retained _any_ iota of his former self. He was far from the same person he used to be, but… Somehow, through it all, he _was_ still Takashi Shirogane, the guy who loved gummy candies and stupid jokes and somehow always managed to pacify his every qualm.

Those were simpler times… but perhaps not everything had changed for the worst.

Gently, Keith lifted their connected hands and pressed a kiss to the ridge of Shiro’s knuckles. “Shiro, you’re killing the mood.”

At that, Shiro blinked up at him once, twice, and bit back a small bout of laughter. With half-lidded, smiling eyes, he bucked his hips up and slowly dragged their clothed erections together, grunting amusedly as Keith’s grip tightened against his hand. “You sure about that?”

Keith made a face at that, but couldn’t bite back the pleasured gasp that dripped from his tongue as Shiro rutted against him again. Picking up a rhythm of his own, he tugged his gloves off and moved to trail his knuckles along the contours of Shiro’s abdomen. It was far from the first time Shiro’s bare body has been splayed out beneath his hands—sparring and community showers at the Garrison ensured that every young man was numbed to each other’s nakedness—but the implications had never before been so _intimate_. In its own way, it felt both familiar and foreign against his touch, but as a whole, he found himself growing ever-excited by the prospect.

Fingers ghosted across taut muscle, blemished skin, before circling back up to skirt across hardened nipples. One of Keith’s brows rose curiously at the way Shiro arched deliberately against him, forcibly palming a pec against Keith’s hand, in want of _any_ further contact. Trying to match Shiro’s agonizing pace, particularly in the face of being yanked back by reality’s time constraints, was nigh unbearable. And yet, despite this, the fondness with which Shiro regarded him made this infinitely better than any amount of touching himself had ever been.

Stilling his hands for a moment, Keith let his palms settle on either side of Shiro’s chest, and with a silent intake of breath, he rolled his thumbs along the other paladin’s nipples. Beneath him, he felt Shiro squirm at the contact, clearly unused to such stimulation but not necessarily resistant. Unable to fight his own curiosity, Keith pinched a bud between his fingers and gave a small tug, arching a brow at his familiar’s quickening pulse beneath his palms.

“You... like that, huh?”

“Guess so,” came the winded response, well-natured but saturated with a subtle excitement. “Never thought to try.”

With a thoughtful hum, Keith returned his attention to the firm nubs beneath his touch, flicking and tweaking until a low whine tumbled from Shiro’s throat. It was… _odd_ , seeing his former upperclassman so undone by a simple brush of his fingers. The oddity of it all, however, was long lost against the enthrallment of such a notion—that Shiro was putty in his hands from Keith and Keith alone.

He could only imagine the splendor of his lover beneath him, _entirely_ undone by nothing more than touch.

“Hey,” Shiro said suddenly, wriggling out from under Keith’s legs.  “Sit up for a sec.”

Without question, Keith nodded shortly in compliance; there was an enticing strain in Shiro’s voice, now—one that Keith wanted nothing more than to smother to silence with his mouth. He bit back that thought for the time being, however, and instead opted to do as Shiro asked. Gingerly, he shifted back onto his bottom, watching as Shiro did the same a little ways away. Inquiringly, Keith searched his face for some indication of what he had in mind, but couldn’t see past the hungered glint in his eyes.

“Shiro?”

 A pair of hands settled suddenly at the front of his pants, and Keith’s gaze shot downward to find Shiro fiddling with the clasp on his trousers. So that was his game? Keith made an attempt to assist him, but retracted his hand instinctively as the back of a finger accidentally grazed the tent beneath his zipper. It took his every effort to keep from bucking up into Shiro’s fingers, so maddening _close_ to his aching arousal—he could nary keep from imagining it, the exhilaration he would get from hand-fucking those calloused digits until—

“Keith, can you help me out?”

“Hm—? _Right_ , sorry.”

With an unsteady breath, Keith began stripping himself down. The warm red glow around his fingers pulsed with each motion, tremoring this way and that as he struggled to keep his hands steady. He couldn’t keep his subconscious from noticing the falter of nebulae as they began bleeding into crimson stardust, from their prior burgundy color. To already see the surrounding space shifting again, in that peculiar way it does… Was there any telling _when_ he would be ripped back to reality?

A small touch to the arm beckoned his focus back, and with a hard swallow, Keith removed the rest of his clothes. His eyes fell once more on Shiro’s face, and in the dim glow of distant suns there existed a light in his eyes which Keith had not seen before. Exposed in full before his lover, Keith could almost feel the weight of Shiro’s eyes upon him, dragging up and down his every inch before finally settling bashfully on his face.

“… Uh, Shiro?” Keith subconsciously turned away a little; it wasn’t as if he was opposed to Shiro seeing him in the nude, but something in the other’s silence was making this far more awkward than it needed to be. “Say something.”

“S-Sorry, it’s just…”

The older paladin’s stare fell downward, and his Adam’s apple bobbed in a visible swallow. Wordlessly, he unbuttoned his own trousers and slid them off, tossing them aside with hardly another thought on the matter. The lilac glow of his body dimmed as he dipped back down to the astral floor, kneeling in front of Keith as the former red paladin moved to sit more comfortably on the ground.

Shiro said, “You look… _Good_.”

He leaned himself over Keith’s torso and cast a fond smile down at him. “I don’t want this to end.”

His words sent Keith’s mind back into the void, and for the briefest of moments, he could feel the familiar touch of the black lion’s cushion pressing into his back. The sensation struck him with an unwelcome coldness, starkly different from the organic warmth of Shiro’s body above him in the astral plane. _No_ , he thought, and pushed away the lull of the black lion’s cockpit as best he could. Not yet. Their time together was not yet finished; he needed _more_ —more time with his companion, more sweet warmth, more of the other’s touch and taste along his nerves…

 “Keith?”

“Hm?”

Blinking away reality, Keith shook his head with vigor and looked once more upon Shiro’s face, which had since grown wrought with concern. It was a curious expression—a medley of fret and upset and arousal, all evident in a single crease between his brows. With a tiny sigh, Keith reached up and smoothed the pads of his fingers against the worry lines.

“You were fading again,” Shiro said, and his voice held a softness that it hadn’t before.  Readjusting himself, he lowered Keith onto his back and pressed a long, languid kiss to his mouth. The familiar red sheen of Keith’s body burned bright once more, and as they disconnected for air, a single hand on the back of Shiro’s head ensured their lips remained but a whisper’s breadth from each other. “It’s good to have you back.”

“Shiro…” Shaking his head in incredulity, Keith let out a short laugh and gently bit the tip of Shiro’s nose. “We’re not going through that _again_.”

It was Shiro’s little attempt to cheer him up and lull him back, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t work like a charm.

With a small hum, Shiro shifted his body downward; Keith’s breath caught in his throat as their proximity dragged the underside of his neglected cock against Shiro’s stomach. If he weren’t already so far gone, he may have forgotten about it entirely, if only out of fear of shifting out of the astral plane again. But now, as a pair of eager lips left a trail down his chest, the lack of much-needed friction was all but driving him to hysteria. Touch-starved and desperate, Keith extended a hand to nudge Shiro further down, but the other paladin would have none of it. If anything, Keith was certain Shiro had _slowed_ in his ministrations, dipping his tongue into Keith’s belly button and scraping blunt nails along the outside of a taut thigh. Shiro’s touch was, at once, all that he could fathom, and yet nowhere that it needed to be.

Leaning back on a forearm, Keith reached his free hand out and brushed the white tuft from Shiro’s forehead—it had been tickling Keith’s skin the whole way down, and its feather-light prickles were driving him mad. Shiro lifted his face at the sensation of fingers on his scalp, eyeing Keith without a word—irises, steely gray and beautifully reflective, sought something in his expression, and did not falter from his gaze as he shifted lower, still. There was a soft nuzzle into the jut of his hip, mere centimeters from his aching arousal—Keith tugged back on Shiro’s bangs a bit more firmly at the teasing.

With a cheeky, anxious laugh, Shiro cast Keith one last look and pressed his lips to the base of his cock.

Through gnashed teeth, Keith hissed in a short, cold breath of air, and his hand in the other’s bangs tightened reflexively. Beneath dark lashes, Shiro’s stare locked with his again, a drunken haze on dilated pupils as he sucked a trail of kisses along the underside of his length. Were it _anyone_ but Shiro, the embarrassment of such intimacy may have smothered him alive. But this? With his dearest friend and lover giving him his all, face framed by glittering starlight between his thighs? The emotion of it all welled blissfully in his chest.

How _good_ it would be, too—to have Shiro back in _his_ reality, splayed out on his mattress, caving beneath his mouth in the same way— 

The void beneath their bodies darkened again, and he banished such thoughts as best he could.

Keith groaned, raking fingers through Shiro’s hair as his mouth enclosed around the swollen crown of his member.  With a steady breath, Shiro slid his way down, taking in as much of Keith as he could manage; he overestimated himself for a moment, and nearly gagged on impulse, but recovered in enough time to rectify himself. Casting an apologetic smile up at Keith, he slid back down as the younger paladin cracked a toothy half-smile down at him.

“You look good like that.”

With a bob of the head, Shiro lifted his lips off of Keith with a wet _smack—_ the sound made them both snigger for a second, easing the uncertainty and tension that had settled between them before. “You’re… serious.”

“I _am_ serious.” Amusement clung to Keith’s upturned lips, almost as if he didn’t believe he had said so himself.

Despite the purple hue of his astral form, the flush on Shiro’s face was plain-as-day. Even so, he smiled coyly up at his familiar and rolled his tongue from base to tip again. It went unspoken that neither of them knew entirely _when_ “next time” would be, nor whether “next time” would be on the astral plane or within some vein of reality. Hell, “next time”, in itself, may never see the light of day; there was no telling _what_ would happen every time Keith piloted the black lion, and the ever-present possibility of Keith (or any of the paladins) not surviving a battle loomed heavily over their shoulders at all times.

But such thoughts were better suited for another time.

Bringing his bionic hand forward, Shiro took hold of the base of his cock and gave an experimental pump, as if testing the pressure of his artificial fingers against the girth beneath. His eyes drifted back up to meet Keith’s, a silent inquiry flitting between them both; even in the throes of ecstasy, Shiro had uncertainties strewn across his face. To that, Keith could only nod and rotate his hips a bit in encouragement.

Carefully, the prosthetic hand pumped again, met soon thereafter by the warm curl of Shiro’s tongue against the ridge. Enticed by Keith’s labored breathing, his lips shut around him again, swollen and slicked wet with saliva and pre-come, and slid down as far as his throat would allow. What he couldn’t fit was doctored gently by a flick of the wrist, and within seconds of his steady motions, Keith’s hand in his hair had clenched into a fist. Between the wet suction of Shiro’s mouth and the cool touch of his hand, Keith could hardly breathe, could hardly _think_ —and for fear of finishing too early, tugged up on Shiro’s hair to lift him off.

“Hold on,” Keith said between breaths, and slowly sat upright. Awkwardly, he rubbed at the back of his neck, wincing as Shiro wiped away the dribble running down his chin. “I’m, uh… Not far off. And you haven’t gotten anything from me, or—or _yourself_ , and...”

Keith swallowed again, leaning forward to rest his forehead on Shiro’s naked shoulder. The heavy heat between their bodies was _too much_ , and his every last inch was soaked in a layer of sweat; Shiro’s skin exuded the scent of sex and stardust, and he wanted nothing more than to commit it to memory.

“—and I want more. Of _you_.”

A look of understanding passed between them, shared through breathless pants and love-drunk eyes. And as Shiro lifted his prosthetic hand to cup Keith’s jaw, the stars beneath their bodies frolicked away in a frenzy, and the galaxies that once danced through the void flickered to black. For a few pregnant seconds, Keith saw nothing, felt nothing—the only indication of Shiro’s remaining presence beside him was the soothing puff of hot breath against his ear. He blinked once, then once more, and at last the void around them began to fold into something more. The reflective light of a moon shone suddenly upon them both, illuminating the space behind Shiro’s head and all but blinding Keith in its wake. A galaxy’s azure expanse trickled out from behind the moon, bleeding dim clouds and pinprick stars; it was the only other perceptible blemish on the otherwise empty space around them, and as Keith’s eyes adjusted to the newfound light, he felt the cold clutches of the pilot’s seat against his back.

Just a little more time, _please_. That was all he needed. That was all that he ever needed.

“Keith? Are you there?”

Hands held either side of his face as he was gently guided back into the astral plane. Shiro’s bittersweet smile was the first thing to grace him at his return, and the deepest recesses of his mind longed for that image to grace him upon every wake. It was nothing more than a wishful “someday”, but he was far from giving up on _every_ potential.

Shiro knelt in front of Keith with a sigh. “Keith… are you still with me?”

“Always,” came the immediate reply, and Keith hurriedly took hold of one of the hands on his face. “Besides… We’re not finished here.”

Determinedly, he kissed Shiro’s mouth with a groan, guiding the hand in his grasp down to settle between his legs. “Like I said… I want _all of you_. That hasn’t changed.”

Swallowing thickly, Shiro unwound his hand from Keith’s fingers. When he spoke again, his voice quavered in a way that tickled Keith in amusement. For all of his composure as an officer, as a pilot, and as a paladin, Shiro’s uncertainty in all of this was incredibly entertaining. “What did you have in mind? Any preference for… anything?”

“Not really,” Keith began, mulling it over in his head. He hadn’t considered that Shiro may not care one way or another. But, after pondering the idea in his head for a moment, the verdict came in a gentle utterance. “… Fuck me.”

“… Keith?”

“I want you to.”

Even with the knowledge that Keith could leave at any moment, Shiro was still fretting over his wellbeing; the notion in itself coaxed a smile back onto Keith’s lips. He wasn’t convinced that Shiro knew just how _good_ he was to Keith, and for all of the insecurities Shiro had bared to him over the years, he would forever refute tenfold with his every last breath and touch. With one final kiss to the lips, Keith turned around and rested his weight on his knees—and everything before his eyes _changed_.

The glow that once emanated from their bodies now slinked down to settle entirely in their hands. From beneath his palms, a dim crimson cloud grew into existence, radiating out from his skin and seeping into the ground beneath him—his eyes were enraptured by the beauty of it, nearly forgetting himself in the galaxies bleeding from his fingertips. This was entirely unlike anything he had ever seen in the void, cosmos that birthed from his touch and extended to a remote world below. Try as he may, scraping the pads of his fingers along the indiscernible floor, he could not reach beyond its barriers.

It was beautifully perplexing.

Keith peeked over his shoulder back at Shiro, who was staring at his own fingertips with a similar wonderment. Sure enough, his hands had done the same—from open palms snaked tendrils of cosmic dust, a calming purple in contrast to Keith’s fiery red.

“Shiro…?” Keith asked, and lifted a hand from the ground; ringlets of stars followed in its wake. “Are you…?”

“Yeah, me too…”

Inching nearer, still, Shiro raised his prosthetic up and hesitantly prodded himself in the elbow a few times. “It… doesn’t hurt, if that’s…”

“… Right.”

Keith stole one final glimpse at the terrifying beauty beneath his hands—coated in void, his and Shiro’s weren’t so starkly different in shape, and the prosthetic appeared no different from the flesh hand on his left. Everything about the astral plane had had Keith perplexed prior to this new development, and this was, if anything, even _more_ baffling.

The ever-dull coldness of Black’s headrest at the back of his skull served as a cruel reminder of the task at hand—and that, even in the face of astral happenings, he couldn’t afford to lose his focus.

Behind him, the other paladin loomed over his body, and as Shiro’s heart thrummed vivaciously against his back, Keith could feel the prod of a flesh finger at his entrance.  Drawing his lower lip beneath his teeth, he kept his attention trained on the red blooms under his hands, doing his best to ignore both the impending tightness of Shiro’s digit and the pull of the reality.

“Okay—I have one in,” Shiro mumbled, and peppered Keith’s hair with apologetic kisses, as if trying to drink away any discomfort Keith may have felt. “Are you alright?”

It was… _odd_ , though not necessarily a bad sensation, Keith thought. He banished the notion that they hadn’t used any form of lubricant, but given the ease with which his hole had accommodated the intruding finger… Well, perhaps he could just chalk it up to more nonsensical astral magic.

Rolling his hips a few times, he flicked his tongue out to remoisten his lips and breathed out a simple affirmation. “Keep going.”

“Right…”

A second finger, and then eventually third, curled in to join the first, filling and stretching him with deliberate thrusts. “Just… let me know when you’re ready. You’re doing great, baby.”

The praise only spurned Keith’s arousal further, aptly timed with a brush to his prostate, and a euphoric groan slipped from his tongue. Against his ear, heavy puffs of hot air expelled themselves from Shiro’s chest, and his nostrils brimmed with the briny smell of sex on the other’s breath. Craning his neck, he gulped down another pleasured sound and met the pilot’s eyes for a moment, tongue struggling to form coherent syllables as those meticulous fingers sought his sweet spot again. “Shiro, _please_.”

As Shiro withdrew completely, Keith lowered his dazed eyes to flit along his space-dappled hands again. Slick nebulae snaked their way up his wrists, now, pulsating red clouds dappling his skin amidst empty pockets of deep space.  And as Shiro’s hands came to rest on either side of his hips, a curious sensation radiated from the pads of the other’s fingertips. Peering over his shoulder, Keith eyed the larger hands planted on his body, and in the wake of the other’s palms blossomed the same violet cosmos that had been dripping from his fingers. Fresh purple spacedust bloomed on his hips where Shiro’s touch once lingered.

Shiro broke contact and sat back again. Their eyes met, and at the blatant doubt in Shiro’s eyes, Keith flashed him a small smile.

“It’s weird, but it doesn’t hurt. I swear, Shiro— _I’m fine_.”

A thoughtful look crossed his familiar’s face, as if mulling over the strangeness of it all, of whether it was safe to be romping around in the astral plane at all. But try as he may, Keith never _did_ have Shiro’s patience, and as such had few qualms about crawling over and sitting himself in the other paladin’s lap.

“What—” Shiro started, voice catching in his throat as Keith’s backside brushed invitingly against his neglected hardness. “K-Keith—”

“ _Takashi_ ,” Keith retorted, and the once-sweet smile on his face curved into an impish grin. Gnashing his teeth at his own ache, he leaned his back flush against the bow of Shiro’s chest and ground his hips down a little; a tiny pride welled in his ribcage at the expletive that dripped from his lover’s tongue. “ _Mm_. Patience yields focus. But _impatience_ …” –a low pant as he caught his breath again—“Impatience yields finishing this before I wake up blue-balled in _your_ lion.”

For a mild moment, Keith’s own boldness made him flush—if he was being entirely honest, that had sounded much better in his head—but his grin did not falter as he heard Shiro snort humoredly behind him. Lightly, he tapped the back of Shiro’s prosthetic hand and lifted his lower half up from Shiro’s lap. “Help me out?”

Shiro nodded his head and placed an upturned palm to the back of Keith’s thigh—another spattering of violet cosmos painted themselves on his skin at the touch, and the sensation sent a tingling quiver along Keith’s nerves. When Shiro spoke again, his voice was muffled, only semi-audible as his mouth pressed firmly against the younger paladin’s sex-flushed shoulder. “Ease down, slowly.”

In his urgency, it took a tremendous amount of effort on Keith’s part to resist taking the entirety of Shiro’s girth at once, but even he knew better than to rush it. Leaning back a little, he felt the prod of his partner’s tip at his entrance, and with a quick inhalation of breath, slowly sunk himself downward.

His body froze for a second, adapting to the sensation of Shiro _inside him_ —an idea that, in itself, was nigh unfathomable—before gradually taking in more of the other paladin. It took a few slow seconds of adjustment, but it wasn’t long before he had Shiro sheathed to the hilt, filling him tightly with only the faintest sense of discomfort. Letting his head loll back, Keith shifted his hips and gingerly lifted himself up a bit.

“—too much?” Shiro questioned—the intonation of his voice had lowered an octave, and was mingled with a huskiness that betrayed his underlying pleasure. Any further uncertainties he had, however, were smothered to silence as Keith plunged back down, drawing a strained whine from the back of his throat. “ _Quiznak_ …”

Keith only hummed at that, arching his back in search of a better angle. There was nothing particularly sexy about the word “quiznak”, but the way it was spoken was so unabashedly _Shiro_ that it only served to spurn him on further. He steadily rocked himself on Shiro’s cock, seeking that pleasuring gland that the other’s fingers had so deftly rubbed before. Eagerly, his back arched further as one of Shiro’s hands trailed up the side of his ribcage, leaving a cool celestial glaze along his abdomen. While this was far removed either of their imaginations, in terms of their first time together, it was beyond anything either could have fathomed. 

As Keith unfolded more beneath his touch, Shiro leaned his weight on the other palm and bucked up in search of more searing tightness. There was a rhythm building between them now, slow and sweet, and in the throes of ecstasy Keith all but lost himself to the ardency of Shiro’s _everything_ overwhelming him. Every stray touch, every whispered adoration against his ear, every last laugh born from dumb in-jokes and awkward sounds left him overindulged. They were beaded sweat and stray kisses and glowing stardust, bodies as one cast against the moonlight. For all of his years in solitude, the swell of rapture in his heart and mind made up for a lifetime of loneliness.

He never wanted it to end.

“Faster,” Keith sighed, reaching a hand back to clasp the back of Shiro’s head as an anchor. Beneath his fingers, he felt Shiro nod once, and his grip tightened as the older paladin rammed up with more fervor than before. With each jolt to his prostate came a heavier pant, rendering him near-incapable of structured speech. Bare skin now gave way to splatterings of stardust where hands once roamed, all but blending with the astral world around them. Keith’s mind had long ago given way to bliss, nerves stimulated past the point of coherency, and in that moment there was nothing but Shiro’s keening in his ear and the roar of his own throbbing arousal.

But such things cannot last, and as his pleasure climbed to its zenith, the scent of the black lion’s cockpit began to mingle with the smell of Shiro’s essence against him.

“ _Keith…_ ”

Beside his ear, Shiro’s breath hitched suddenly, and his thrusts grew more frenetic in pace. Taken by the fervor of it all, Shiro let Keith’s name spill from his tongue like a mantra, as if the utterance alone tethered his mind to this moment. “ _Keith…_ you still with me?”

“ _Always_ ,” he repeated, but this time it came out far more insistent, as if making a vain effort to reassure _himself_ as much as his companion. Rebounding his hips faster, he clenched his fingers more tightly in Shiro’s short hair and gnashed his teeth. A stifled whimper reverberated in the back of his throat, pressure in his groin nigh insufferable as the sound of skin slapping skin echoed in the space around them.

“Keith… Keith, _I—_ ”

A pair of teeth sunk suddenly, delicately, into the skin between his neck and shoulder, and as Shiro’s voice gave way to a saccharine whimper, Keith felt the pilot’s body shudder against him in orgasm. Tightly clenching his eyes, Keith bucked back as Shiro spilled into him, chasing his own release as visions of alien metal and display screens flickered at the back of his eyelids. Not yet. _Not yet_. He wasn’t ready to leave, he—

One of Shiro’s hands reached around to stroke him, effectively refocusing his frenzied mind for a short moment.

“Hey,” Shiro crooned, weary huffs of breath tickling the back of his neck. “Hey, I’m still here. Almost there, Keith.”

Ten-or-so flicks of the wrist, and Keith, too, was lost to euphoria.

As Shiro’s hand gently milked him through the last tremors of release, Keith collapsed breathlessly against his back—and the void flickered to black before his eyes. His every last nerve ending sparked and sprung to life, screaming silently as his mind was split between reality and astral projection. He was still there with Shiro among the stars—the warmth of Shiro’s chest against his back reassured him of that much—but the pull of his own plane of existence had never been stronger. In the frenzied jolts of orgasm, his body and mind were overstimulated, overloaded, and disconnected from one another—and now, he could hardly process which plane of existence he was treading _at all_ , as both began to bleed into one another before his eyes.

The prior echoes of Shiro’s lungs died into the void, and the space that surrounded him suddenly fell all too silent—a silence broken only by the winded breaths of air flitting in and out of his own parted lips. Around him, he smelled nothing, heard nothing, saw nothing but the peculiar twinkling of stars left painted onto his skin. Licking his lips nervously, he gazed around in search of the cosmos, in search of Black, in search of _anything_ —any indication that he was back in one reality or another. With a firm swallow, he called out into the dark, “Shiro?”

At last, the strumming of Shiro’s heart against his back stilled, and his vision gave way to the cockpit of the black lion.

In a frenzy, Keith whipped his head in both directions, as if reassuring himself that he _was_ , in fact, inside Black (and not, by extension, in some alternate plane of reality _resembling_ said inside of Black). The same controls, the same oversized seat… It was fairly safe to assume that he was back where he was intended to be.

A deep sigh rolled out from his throat, and as he processed the situation, his head lowered wearily into his palms. Beneath his cheeks, a hot flush still burned strong, and flashes of what had happened flickered enticingly behind his eyelids. Just how long had he been there? he wondered, sinking further into the seat. Exhaustion throbbed dully at the forefront of his skull, punctuating his unsteady thought processes, though this wasn’t uncommon after visiting the astral plane for a prolonged period of time. There was a faint stickiness at the front of his underwear, as well, and he knew perfectly well the source of _that_ discomfort.

Overall, he felt _miserable_ —fatigued, overheated, and in desperate need of a cold shower. As if the void of the astral plane had manifested inside of him, a hollow had dug itself in the slats beneath his ribs; he felt _empty_. The feeling wouldn’t last in its entirety—it never did—but there was no bypassing the fact that Shiro was no longer here with him. Had never _been_ here with him, not truly—not while they remained on separate planes of existence.

He had only just seen the black paladin moments before, yet he yearned again for that comforting presence beside him.

Yet, as he stood up to exit the cockpit, a slight sensation tickled the inside of his wrist, and when he twisted his forearm for a better look, a single stripe of violet nebulae painted itself on his skin. It vanished almost as soon as it appeared, but the significance of the touch lingered infinitely thereafter.

Keith pressed his lips to the branching veins at his wrist, and letting his eyelids slip shut, he smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> You may find me on tumblr as "[quarrely](http://quarrely.tumblr.com)".
> 
> Kudos and comments are both greatly appreciated!


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